Schadenfreude
by thefrozensky
Summary: As the battle against Voldemort looms, the each member of the Order of the Phoenix must face the fact that their worst enemies may be themselves. Set in Harry's 5th year, multiple pairings including Sirius/Remus, Severus/Draco, Draco/Harry & Severus/Remus
1. One

Title: Schadenfreude

Rating: T

Pairings: Sirius/Remus, Severus/Draco, Draco/Harry, Severus/Remus

Type: Multiple chapters, updated every two weeks.

* * *

Overhead, the sky was layer upon layer of black, a subtle shifting of pitch and raven hues that seemed draped inexplicably across each other, so carefully that Remus, though he stared, could not decide where one cloud ended and the next began. Bluish-black blended with shimmering ebony, falling darkly across the colour of crow's feathers and mingling with the bitter shade Remus associated with resentment. In any case, the night was dominated by darkness. Not a single star remained to puncture the looming thunderheads, and even if the sky were clear, Remus knew he would see no glowing, sultry orb. The moon was new, and thus invisible. He ought to feel safe, but he did not.

Gathering the velvet folds of his hood closer around his face, Remus hurried down the street, trying to creep as silently as possible along the cobblestones. He was in London -- Muggle London -- rounding the corner to the imposing structure that was the House of Black. 12 Grimmauld loomed silent and scolding before him. The house -- it would never be home to Remus, no matter how many months he lived there -- seemed to radiate dislike and malicious intention. It stood defenceless against his intrusion as he boldly climbed the crumbling steps and set one hand on the burnished brass doorknob. Brick and mortar and man-made it might be, but Remus could sense it's resentment of him, and he returned it ten-fold. _Sirius' prison_, he thought. _Walburga and Orion's domain_. Still, after a quick glance over his shoulder to make certain he had not been followed, Remus forced open the door, which had no choice but to swing open and admit him. He had been told the secret, after all, by the secret-keeper himself, and not even an ornate palace could restrain that magic.

"I'm --" Remus started, then fell silent. There was no use calling for Sirius. If he knew his old friend at all, Sirius would already be well aware that Remus had returned. Remus felt the last flare of hope within his chest gutter and die. There might have been a time -- _had been_, Remus considered -- when Sirius would have bounded down the stairs three at a time, panting and out of breath, eager to lay eyes on Remus, to explore Remus' body with his hands and make certain he was all right. Now, Sirius seldom stirred from the filthy bedroom in which he had secluded himself. He seemed to take no joy anything, not even the arrival of good friends. Pranks and rude gestures, like housing Buckbeak the Hippogriff in his deceased mother's bedroom, which might have once made Sirius burst in laughter each time he recounted the fact, no longer appeared to have any impact on him at all.

"-- back," Remus informed the empty foyer. His words seemed muted by the layer of dust that had settled on the well-worn carpet. With a sigh, Remus drew back the hood of his cloak, though he did not discard it. There was a dying fire cooking in the grate, throwing out feeble warmth, but nonetheless, Remus felt chilled. There had been something in the air outside, a spectre of trouble to come dogging his footsteps; something was going to happen, Remus was fairly sure of it. Unlike the frightening Professor Trelawney, with her jangling bracelets, over-large spectacles and clutch of crystal balls, Remus would never claim a psychic gift or even an interest in one, but he was a werewolf, and even that curse had a silver lining, in the form of enhanced senses. Short hairs on the back of Remus' neck prickled and rose, and he shivered, drawing nearer the fire, to which he added a few small logs.

With a wave of his wand to ensure that all protection spells on the house were in order, Remus reluctantly left the foyer, kicking off his boots and padding to the kitchen. It was late, past midnight, and he was exhausted from his efforts, but he also knew he was far to keyed up to sleep. Besides, he'd not eaten all day, and his stomach growled slightly in protest, reminding him of the hunger he had ignored too long. _Supper_, he decided. _Then bed. _As he rummaged through the cupboard and conjured into existence a battered, much-used soup kettle, Remus decided he would prepare Sirius' evening meal as well. _If I'm not gravely mistaken, _he mused darkly_, the only meals he's had today have been liquid. _As the thought occurred to him, Remus noted another empty bottle of fire whisky, left impertinently upon the counter. _It's like he's flaunting it. Like he wants me to see_. Remus waved his wand a bit too harshly as he silently performed the vanishing spell; the shrill sound of breaking glass lingered in his ears from a long distance away.

"Sirius?" he inquired cautiously a few moments later, as he carefully nudged open the door to the master bedroom with his foot. The place was, as usual, a disaster. Buckbeak was perched royally on the king-sized feather bed, the sheets upon which were streaked with mud and grime Remus could not identify and did not care to know about. A collection of small animal skeletons was stored in the far corner, gleaming whitely in the shadows. The hippogriff eyed Remus regally, rearranging his feathers, but the animal was the sole occupant.

"Sirius?" Remus asked again, slightly concerned. It was too rash, even for Sirius, to leave the safe confines of the house when the entire team of Ministry Aurors seemed to be on his trail, eager to store him back in Azkaban; their prize catch. "Sirius, I've made some soup --"

"Here," came a gravely whisper. Sirius' voice sounded hoarse, from emotion or disuse, perhaps both. He spoke seldom, lighting up temporarily only when Harry paid a rare visit, then crashing back into the depths of depression once the boy had to leave. Remus was eager for the Christmas holidays, when, he assumed, Harry would be back, but it was a long time to wait. In Harry's absence, the only person who seemed to get Sirius' blood flowing was Severus Snape, and not in a good way. Snape's last report to Dumbledore had been interrupted when Sirius, after exchanging dire threats and below-the-belt insults with Snape, had finally wrenched out his wand and fired a blast of a scary, crimson-coloured curse in the direction of Severus' face. Luckily, Dumbledore had intervened, and Severus had escaped the house unscathed, but Remus had been disturbed at how quickly Sirius had found himself in near catatonia.

"I found these letters," Sirius said softly as Remus entered the small room. Sirius was perched on his knees on the floor of the bedroom that had been his as a boy. Someone -- Remus assumed it had been Sirius himself -- had ransacked the room, which had remained immaculate during the intervening years when the dust had settled and questionable dark parasites and little creatures had burrowed in. Sirius had created minor disorder, having dug through an old box, the contents of which were scattered about on the floor. "Look at this!" he marvelled. "Owl post -- pictures -- one from Lily --" he fell silent, a lump in his throat as he glanced at Remus' stricken face. "Oh, you made soup," he ventured, trying to change the subject.

Remus had quite forgotten the heavy tray in his hands, which he lowered onto the empty bureau. Crouching down beside Sirius, he nodded, reminding himself to breathe. "Yes," he said. Something deep within his chest seemed to have knotted; his heart beat was erratic, his breathing shallow. "You should have -- did you say letters from Lily?"

Gratefully, Sirius accepted a proffered bowl. "Onion," he remarked. It had been his favourite, once; in the dimly recalled sun-lit days of his early youth, when he had been his father's pride and joy and his mother's constant companion, Walburga had trained the house elves to make it. _Funny_, he reflected. _I'd forgotten about that_. How easy it had been to forget any decency within his family, once he had escaped to Hogwarts. Tasting a sip, he watched as Remus gingerly unfolded a piece of parchment, handling it as carefully as a curator in a museum with a particularly delicate artefact.

"She wrote to you?" Remus asked, not looking up.

Sirius nodded. "Once. At Christmastime."

"You were Harry's godfather. Are," Remus corrected himself. "I'd forgotten." Attempting to regain his composure, he shrugged and folded the letter, letting it flutter from his fingers to the ground.

Sirius flinched as he noted the sorrow etched on Remus' features. The other man, his most loyal and favourite friend, looked beaten, as though he had lived a lifetime of sorrows since venturing out of the house on assignment several days earlier. "You miss her," he stated, in what he hoped was an understanding tone. Sometimes, Sirius had to admit he felt the same, though it was almost always James whose memory stung him from time to time. He had adored Lily, laughed with her, appreciated her cutting wit and dry sarcasm, but James had been his best friend. They had been like twins, two of a kind.

"I miss _you_," Remus said. The words tasted like tears and he withdrew, rising to his feet and collecting his bowl of soup. He was no longer hungry, but the warmth filtering through the pottery was comforting, so he kept the bowl in his grip.

"Remus," Sirius tried, following suit and standing up as Remus moved slowly towards the door. "I'm still here."

"Barely." The jealousy, which Remus was so reluctant to admit to, sounded trite and trivial to his ears. He hated his whining, needy tone, and the way his chin quivered, as though he wanted to cry.

Sirius stared, at a complete loss of what he should say. Pain and exhaustion was visible on Remus' face, in the way his eyes, half-closed, reflected denied need, and in the sullen twist of his lips. "I just can't stand this," Sirius burst out, flailing for the right words. He felt confused, and looked to Remus beseechingly. "This house -- I've always hated it -- my family -- mother's portrait!" Trying to explain, Sirius let all of his resentments rise to the top, not caring that he sounded incoherent. "It's like being in a cage!" he added, practically shouting. "This, this --"

"What?" There was kindness in Remus' voice, but impatience too. "I want to help, but I can't if you don't tell me!"

"Everything!" Drawing a deep breath, Sirius clawed at the air, as though he might pull an explanation right out of nothingness. "I can't leave here, I can't get away. It's been so long since I've even been able to, oh, I don't know -- watch a sunset -- breathe fresh air! Dumbledore has me stuck here, for my safety he says," Sirius' sarcasm was evident. "But right about now I'd gladly go head to head with a dozen Death Eaters or Aurors, just for the adventure." His eyes gleamed, not just with passion but also with tears. "I'd rather be in Azkaban than cooped up here a moment longer."

"If you left," Remus attempted to explain, "you would be. You'd be put back in prison, or worse." He could not bring himself to say 'dead'. The word sounded harsh and ragged coming from Sirius himself.

Recklessly, Sirius shrugged. "So?" He kicked at a pile of old Muggle motorcycle magazines, sending them spilled across the carpet. It was as though he was the unwilling victim of a time-turner. Time had twisted, and his life had turned from its logical course and returned him to the hated house at number 12. He was trapped, just like he'd been as a teenager. "James is dead! Lily's dead! Sometimes I think --"

"Don't." Remus heard the coldness in his tone and shivered. "Don't you dare." He forced his shaking hands into his pocket.

"Why not?" Sirius' face was flamed; his cheeks burned with useless rage. The fury sent some blood pumping through his veins, for which he was thankful, because it let him feel a little more alive. "What good am I to anyone alive, anyway? What's the use of my remaining here?"

Remus raised his chin, attempting to look dignified, though inside, he was shaking. He felt weak, immature, definitely unequipped to handle Sirius' pain. "You're Harry's godfather," he announced. "You have a responsibility to him. Harry hasn't any family -- you're all that's left." A sliver of the wolf within was visible in his glowing eyes. "Perhaps your life doesn't mean much to you, Sirius Black, but you'd be more mistaken than you know to ever believe it isn't valuable to others, Harry and I included."

Deflated, Sirius sunk down against the wall, his hands at his temples as though controlling a pulsing headache. "You don't understand," he said mournfully. "It's not just being trapped here that I can't stand, though it's making me crazy, it truly is. I feel like I'm going mad in this place. So would you be as well, if it was you stuck here," he added, glaring at Remus. "But it's this -- this --" He touched his face, letting his fingers comb through the once-sleek hair he used to be so proud of. "This isn't me! I feel trapped in this body, like it isn't even my own skin."

"But it is," Remus pointed out.

"You don't understand," Sirius repeated sadly. He thought about the years lost to Azkaban, years wasted silently pacing a miniscule cell. Time had been measured in the meagre allotments of food and water he had received every few hours. The only company he'd had were the voices in his head assuring him of his guilt in a thousand petty sins, and the dull pain that came with the memory of a whispered conversation with James, assuring his best friend that Voldemort would never think Peter -- chubby, awkward, untalented Peter Pettigrew -- would ever be made secret keeper, not in a million years. Every moment had seemed an hour, every day a lifetime, and yet he had never quite grown up. There had been none of the usual milestones. He'd had no career, and for years had known no love interest save distant pangs at the thought of Remus, out there in the woods alone. A part of him had remained the arrogant, confident prankster, prepared to lead an easy life even as he endured unspeakable hardship. Then he had escaped, and he had assumed things would finally go back to normal. James and Lily would be gone, yes, and Peter lost forever, marked a traitor -- but Remus would be the same, and _he_ would be the same, and life would be lived easy and carefree. Nothing had turned out the way he had expected it.

"I found the community of werewolves Dumbledore asked me to search for," Remus supplied, aware that Sirius was slipping away again, back into his own tortured thoughts. He could not stand to see Sirius returned to the silent prison of his mind. "Sirius -- did you hear?"

Blinking, Sirius focussed his grey eyes. "I -- werewolves. Yes, I heard you. That was the big assignment, huh? Find a werewolf den?" _I could have done that, as Padfoot_, he mused.

"Dumbledore feels Voldemort may decide to coax cooperation from them at some point, so it's well worth it, us being kept informed. Most of them are completely feral," Remus added, frowning. He shivered, remembered the flashing red eyes that had sought him out in the darkness, the bristling fur he had sensed right beneath their skin. "They've never lived among wizards, nor had any desire to do so. Most of them were cast out as children. Their parents gave them up, or threw them out, disowned them at any rate. The rest were chosen, mostly kidnapped. Greyback -- he created a few, and took them from their families to raise as his own. He trains them."

"Sounds dangerous," Sirius said, licking his lips.

"I did not have to interact with them, much, just observe. It's safe enough for the time being, though Dumbledore has suggested that at some point, I may have to join them. Undercover, you know, to find out exactly what they're up to."

He had obviously said the wrong thing, for Sirius' expression hardened. "He'll risk your life, but mine is so precious I can't even be allowed to sit on the front stoop?" he asked, angry. "I don't care what Dumbledore says, or what he wants. I can't be kept here forever, being useless." He stared at Remus so forcefully that his gaze seemed to bore right into Remus' soul. "You should infect me."

"What?"

"Bite me, you know, next time the moon is full," Sirius commented. "What the hell am I doing, staying here out of sight, hiding like some useless coward --"

"You're only talking that way because of what Snape said," Remus retorted.

"And he was right!" Sirius sprang up, full of energy. "My life is being wasted. Dumbledore is treating me like I'm incapable of anything, like he thinks there is nothing I can do out there for the Order. Well, to hell with the Ministry. They'll figure out about Voldemort being back soon enough, and once my name is cleared it won't matter anyway. You should transform me. If I was a werewolf too, at least I could go with you." Tears glinted in his eyes. "I hate that you're out there risking you life while I sit here doing nothing."

Baring his teeth, Remus narrowed his eyes and glared at Sirius. His expression was savage. "If I ever hear you suggesting I make you a werewolf again…."

"What?" Sirius challenged.

"Don't." Remus' hands balled into fists.

Sirius threw his hands up in the air, in a gesture of exasperation and surrender. "God, Remus -- you don't know -- hell," he remarked, storming past the other man. From the bedroom closet, he withdrew a half-filled bottle of fire whisky and took a tremendous gulp, appreciating the burning heat as the brew went down. He could see Remus gaping at him out of the corner of his eye. The man's expression was hurt, shocked, and angered, but Sirius told himself he didn't care. "Look what I'm reduced to, eh?" he said, sneering, as he hoisted the bottle up so Remus could see it clearly.

Rather prissily, Remus crossed his arms. "That's your choice, not one that was forced on you."

"Well, what the hell else am I supposed to do?"

"Stay sober, for Harry." _For me. _"Keep yourself thinking clearly, at least, for the sake of the Order --"

"Oh, please," Sirius seethed. "What does the Order need me for, besides my house? Hmm?" He waved his arm. "You're all more than welcome to it, whether I'm pissed or not. Doesn't matter if I die either -- there's that handy trick about it being given to Harry, in my will. Magical," Sirius added, his voice filled with artificial grandeur of a sarcastic sort he only used when drunk. "Binding. Inde - bloody - structable!"

"Sirius," Remus said mournfully, his ire ebbing away as he noticed the sheen of tears in Sirius' eyes. "I'll speak to Dumbledore, perhaps he can find a more useful task for you here, within the Headquarters. Maybe even something you can do as Padfoot."

Sirius stared at Remus, bleary-eyed. "He won't," he said flatly.

"Might," Remus countered, though personally, he agreed. "Look, Sirius, there was something else I wanted to speak to you about. Have any owls come today?"

Sirius shook his head, then shrugged. "Buckbeak ate one --"

"An owl?"

"Just a wee barn owl. He caught it when he was out, flying. I guess he was sick of rats." Sirius glowered, painfully envious. "Don't worry, I think it was wounded. Why?"

"Just a feeling I've had," Remus explained. "_Am having_, actually. Like something is not quite right. Like there is danger about."

Sirius peered at him, uncomprehending as he sampled a bit more fire whisky. "We're gearing up for war," he said softly. "We are part of a resistance organisation that the Ministry of Magic disapproves of and refuses to support, and we are the enemy of the strongest and most frightening Dark wizard in the recent history of magic. Oh, yeah, and we lost half our ranks because last time this sort of situation came about, nearly everyone we knew betrayed us or died." He gulped down some whisky, wishing the warmth would give him comfort. "You're bound to feel like something's amiss."

Remus opened his mouth to respond to the sarcastic reply, but before he could, a hollow banging sound reached his eyes. Both men startled as the sound of someone pounding frantically on the door downstairs reached them.


	2. Two

"Black!" Severus Snape's voice emerged a panicked roar as he thundered into the foyer, hardly caring that he had knocked over an end table and set the painting of Black's sour-faced mother off again. Hastily, he hurried forth, not noticing that he was dripping onto the carpet. The clouds had broken after Remus had gone inside, and the wind whipped and howled, carrying a cold, stinging spray which had thoroughly drenched Severus' hair and clothing. Ignoring this, he ran pell-mell through the lower floor, his heavy boots tracking mud. "Black! Black, you filthy Gryffindor -- bloody useless -- come on!"

"I'm here," said Sirius, reaching for his wand, but before he could do more than raise it, Remus knocked him aside in his haste to descend the stairs.

"Severus," Remus said nervously, noting the look of pain and fear on the other man's features. Snape's customary sneer was conspicuously absent, his cruel demeanour gone. Sniffing, Remus could scent blood in the air, mixing with the crisp crackle of ozone that emerged with each lightning strike. "What's happened?" he demanded. His eyes settled on a deep crimson stain that was spread across Severus' cloak and shirt. "You're hurt!"

Impatient, Severus shook his head. "No, not me. It's not my blood. Black!" he exclaimed, sighting Sirius, who had remained frozen on the staircase, his wand gripped in one tight fist. The gloating man of the house was wearing a hateful sneer across his perfect mouth, his eyes coldly appraising Severus' unkempt, wind-blown hair. Barely conscious of the judgment evident there, Severus stared up at Sirius, panicked. "You've got to come down -- got to invite him in! He can't enter without your permission -- Dumbledore isn't here --"

"What the hell are you talking about, Snivellus?" inquired Sirius patiently, looking amused. He cocked his head as though he was studying an exhibit in the zoo, but despite the partial grin on his lips, his eyes were dark with anger. Severus Snape was the last person he cared to see.

"Malfoy!" burst Severus. He rounded on Remus, his arms flapping as he tried to convey the urgency. "I don't know how much longer he can keep going without treatment. He needs a healer!" An uncharacteristic expression of abashment crossed Severus' features; he looked completely at a loss. "I tried," he explained, his tone apologetic and rushed. "I couldn't staunch the bleeding. We've got to do something --"

Without pausing to consider whether or not it might be a trap, Remus nodded and quickly darted outside, leaving Severus and Sirius to consider one another.

Desperation forced Severus to meet Sirius' eyes. "Black! You're the owner of the house, you're the only one who can allow him in here aside from Albus! Hurry! He won't last much longer without our help."

"Oh," drawled Sirius easily, though guilt stirred uncomfortably in his belly. He could not resist tormenting Severus, however, seeing as he finally had him cornered, a worm on a hook. "You're saying you want me to do something for you?" Pretending to think it over, Sirius tapped his chin thoughtfully with his forefinger. "But, I'm useless, aren't I? A bleeding coward, isn't that what you said last time, when you came to gloat about your dangerous assignment and to tease me for staying here, where it's safe?"

Hating the man opposite, Severus clenched his jaw. How badly he wanted to reach for his wand and cover Black in a torrent of stinging hexes and cutting curses -- _or worse_, he considered, imagining the other man writhing under a carefully administered Cruciatus. But the boy was out on the street, bleeding to death from injuries Severus could not possibly deal with alone. Draco was in desperate need of shelter and assistance, so with tremendous effort, Severus kept his fury in check and stared into Sirius' eyes. "Please!"

The gravity of the situation finally managed to impress itself upon Sirius, who nodded, reluctantly shelving his desire for revenge on Snape. He sped in the direction of the open front door, to the outside world where Remus had already ventured, neither worried about the possibility of being captured by the Ministry nor concerned about whether Snape had simply set a cruel trap. It was enough, just to feel the wind rush over his dusty skin, to let the icy rain drip into his hair and down his bare arms. _Alive_, he thought. Then his eyes settled on the two figures across the street, and his mouth fell open.

Remus was on his knees, his hands flapping around pointlessly as he gingerly peeled back a strip of torn fabric that had once been Draco Malfoy's finest set of dress robes. Rain dripped down his forehead and into his eyes, but Remus knew that was not the only impediment to his vision. He felt close to tears just looking at the boy, who seemed to have more blood out than in. A ruby stream trickled from the corner of his mouth. His shirt, the colour of which Remus had assumed was intentionally maroon, turned pink as the blood soaked in it mixed with the downpour and poured out into the street. Deep, sickening welts worked a trail up Draco's pale arms, and his prideful visage was a mess of ragged, weeping lacerations.

Unconscious, Draco lay slumped on the grass at the edge of the road where Severus had laid him down, hoping the darkness of the night would obscure him from enemy view. His blonde hair was plastered against his forehead, and his clothing was badly torn. He appeared to have lost his wand. Worrisome, Remus noted that his chest rose and felt too slightly, his breathing far too slow and shallow.

"Sirius!" Remus prompted, glancing up urgently as Sirius ran across the road to his side.

Severus pointed his wand at the boy. "Do it quickly; he's in terrible pain," he informed Sirius through clenched teeth. Then, directing his wand towards Draco's temple, he cast the spell. "Enervate!"

Draco's pale grey eyes flew open in panic, and he immediately began to keen in pain. He seemed scarcely aware of the fact that Sirius had crouched down beside him and leaned in close to whisper the secret of number 12's location, but he blinked in confusion as the houses on either side spread apart to reveal Sirius' imposing domicile.

"I didn't know where else to bring him," heaved Severus as withdrew his charm, allowing Draco to fall back into blissful sleep. Delicately, he scooped the boy up into his own arms, unaware and not caring about the blood that continued to seep into his clothes. "St Mungo's might treat him, but he'd surely be arrested -- yes, he's been given the Mark," he added hastily as Remus gaped at him in shock at the black brand on Draco's forearm. "His father's insistence," Severus added, lip curling. "My own home is ill equipped and virtually unprotected -- it is Voldemort's lot that are after him," he tried to explain. His hands roved over Draco's body as he set the bleeding boy down on the nearest table, elbowing a number of candles and several of Remus' books out of the way.

"The school --"

"Hogwarts' hospital wing has no provisions for dealing with damage of this magnitude," Severus snapped, as though Remus was a student in class who had offered an unfeasible answer. He seemed to think better of his temper as Sirius glared at him from the doorway. "Simple injuries, that is what Pomfrey is equipped to treat. Classroom mistakes, potion burns, Quidditch accidents -- all of this was quite deliberate. He was attacked by fully grown wizards with every intention of ending his life."

Sirius narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, glancing cautiously at Draco as Remus conjured bandages from nowhere. "Why?"

Dangerous emotion flickered deep in Severus' eyes, and he shook his head as though to shake off the question. "You can take it up with him, if he survives," he decided, preferring not to have to recount the grisly events of the evening, at least not to Sirius Black. Noting an understanding glance that Remus flashed him, Severus felt something in his chest unhitch. Lupin was scarcely a friend, but Severus knew, if he must confide in someone, Remus would be an easy choice. "Do you have any guides?" he asked Sirius. "Tomes, you know the sort of thing, any book on healing charms? I've tried what I know and --" Severus broke off, unwilling to admit defeat in front of a couple of Gryffindors, even if they were all adults now, many years from Hogwarts. Turning away from them both, he settled a hand on Draco's throat, where a deep gash shone dull red. Covering the wound, Severus hummed the best healing spell he knew, the one that he had devised to cure the Sectumsempra. Slowly, the severed flesh drew in and knitted itself together, though clumsily; there would be scars.

"Lupin, can you --"

"Of course," Remus agreed readily as he touched a bad cut on Draco's shoulder and imitated Severus' spell. He could feel Sirius' gaze boring into him, filled with shock and judgment, but there was a life at stake, and Remus rather felt it was worth cooperating with Snape a while in order to save it. "Will this work?

"It can mend the cuts temporarily, but they will continue to appear until the curse works through its entire cycle. I'm not certain how long it lasts." Severus frowned. "I need my potions stores!" he exclaimed. "There is poison in him too, spreading. Nothing I've given him yet seems to have made any difference. Black!" he went on hurriedly. "Did you find anything? Spell-books, anything that might have a healing charm against dark magic?"

Staring, flabbergasted and bemused, from Severus to Remus, both of whom were toiling over the still body of Draco Malfoy, Sirius shook his head. His eyes were round, and he felt a headache coming on, the subtle sound of hoof beats in the distance. In a fit of nostalgia, he longed for Remus to jerk his hands away as Severus' fingers accidentally brushed his own, but both wizards were concentrating too hard on aiding Draco to be distracted by the rare touch. _Snivellus_, Sirius thought hatefully, wishing he could ignore the gaping wound that seemed to be expanding in his own chest. _Always with the bad luck_. "No -- I -- no."

Remus' gaze was plaintive, desperate. "Sirius, please --"

Shaking his head, Sirius blanched. Something within him, with the dogged persistence he knew only from Padfoot, was scratching and howling for release. He wanted to say something -- the right words. He wanted to leap into the fray and toss aside the young man's body from his dining room table, to force Remus to look at him, really look at him, and read the emotion hidden within. He wanted to curse the very lifeblood right out of _Snivellus_ Snape. _Choose me_, whispered some scared, desperate, child-like part of him, because the mere sight of Remus and Severus working together, so competent, an efficient team, made him feel completely off-kilter. _Unnecessary. Worthless_. Berating himself his fears, Sirius backed away. With one sweaty hand, he sought out the banister, then mounted the steps backwards, not quite daring to turn his back. For a long moment he stared at Remus, and Remus stared back. Then, alerted by Severus' concerned mutterings, Remus turned away, his attention back on Draco, and Sirius turned and ran up the stairs as though he was being chased.


End file.
